Chapter 10: He Accepts
The smell of burnt coffee lingered in the sheriff’s office. Noah sat in the hard-backed chair across from Sheriff Mason’s desk, the paperwork lying between them like a silent dare.
“You don’t have to do this,” Mason said, leaning back with his hands behind his head. His badge caught the morning light, a flash of gold in the otherwise dim room. “Bellview’s not your fight anymore, Keene.”
Noah stared at the stack of legal documents. His name was printed neatly on the first page. All it would take was one signature to change everything.
“I didn’t come back here to get dragged into small-town politics,” Noah said. “I came to look after my father.”
Mason smirked. “Yeah? Then why are you still here, talking to me about Isaiah Reed and Jordan Langston?”
Noah didn’t answer.
“You’re looking for trouble,” Mason continued. “And believe me, both those boys are neck-deep in it. If you want to play hero—fine. But when this all blows up in your face, don’t come crying to me.”
Noah picked up the pen. “If they’re lying, they’ll answer for it,” he said evenly. “If they’re not…” He looked up, meeting Mason’s eyes. “God help this town.”
The pen scratched across the paper. One signature. Then another. His name bled into the lines like a finality he couldn’t undo.
“You’re officially counsel for Isaiah Reed and Jordan Langston,” Mason said, his voice flat. “Good luck explaining that to the Langstons. They think their boy’s untouchable.”
Noah stood, tucking the signed forms into his bag. “If he’s innocent, they have nothing to worry about. If he’s not…” He left the sentence hanging, the implication heavy enough to choke the air.
As he walked toward the door, Mason called after him. “Keene—just remember. In Bellview, the truth won’t set you free. It’ll bury you.”
Noah paused at the threshold. “Maybe. But I’ve been buried before.”
Outside, the afternoon sun hit him square in the face. He slipped on his sunglasses, his mind already racing. Two boys. Two crimes. And now they were both his responsibility.
His phone buzzed. A message from an unknown number lit up the screen:
Stop digging, or you’ll join her.
Noah’s hand tightened around the phone. His mother’s face flashed in his memory—smiling in the kitchen, before the fire.
He shoved the phone into his pocket and headed toward his car. For the first time since he’d come back, Noah felt the old pulse of the courtroom in his veins—the rhythm of a fight he wasn’t sure he could win.
But win or lose, he was in it now.